Zane Grey (13 page)

"My! My! Won't Edwards and Young beg me to keep them here now!" he
exclaimed, his pleased eyes resting on Nell's piquant beauty and
Kate's noble proportions and rich coloring. "Come; I will show you
over the Village of Peace."

"Are all these Indians Christians?" asked Jim.

"No, indeed. These Indians you see here, and out yonder under the
shade, though they are friendly, are not Christians. Our converts
employ themselves in the fields or shops. Come; take a peep in here.
This is where we preach in the evenings and during inclement
weather. On pleasant days we use the maple grove yonder."

Jim and the others looked in at the door of the large log structure.
They saw an immense room, the floor covered with benches, and a
raised platform at one end. A few windows let in the light. Spacious
and barn-like was this apartment; but undoubtedly, seen through the
beaming eyes of the missionary, it was a grand amphitheater for
worship. The hard-packed clay floor was velvet carpet; the rude
seats soft as eiderdown; the platform with its white-oak cross, an
altar of marble and gold.

"This is one of our shops," said Mr. Zeisberger, leading them to a
cabin. "Here we make brooms, harness for the horses, farming
implements—everything useful that we can. We have a forge here.
Behold an Indian blacksmith!"

The interior of the large cabin presented a scene of bustling
activity. Twenty or more Indians bent their backs in earnest
employment. In one corner a savage stood holding a piece of red-hot
iron on an anvil, while a brawny brave wielded a sledge-hammer. The
sparks flew; the anvil rang. In another corner a circle of braves
sat around a pile of dried grass and flags. They were twisting and
fashioning these materials into baskets. At a bench three Indian
carpenters were pounding and sawing. Young braves ran back and
forth, carrying pails, rough-hewn boards and blocks of wood.

Instantly struck by two things, Jim voiced his curiosity:

"Why do these Indians all wear long hair, smooth and shiny, without
adornment?"

"They are Christians. They wear neither headdress, war-bonnet, nor
scalp-lock," replied Mr. Zeisberger, with unconscious pride.

"I did not expect to see a blacksmith's anvil out here in the
wilderness. Where did you procure these tools?"

"We have been years getting them here. Some came by way of the Ohio
River; others overland from Detroit. That anvil has a history. It
was lost once, and lay for years in the woods, until some Indians
found it again. It is called the Ringing Stone, and Indians come
from miles around to see and hear it."

The missionary pointed out wide fields of corn, now growing yellow,
and hillsides doted with browsing cattle, droves of sturdy-limbed
horses, and pens of fat, grunting pigs—all of which attested to the
growing prosperity of the Village of Peace.

On the way back to the cabin, while the others listened to and
questioned Mr. Zeisberger, Jim was silent and thoughtful, for his
thoughts reverted to his brother.

Later, as he walked with Nell by the golden-fringed stream, he spoke
of Joe.

"Joe wanted so much to hunt with Wetzel. He will come back; surely
he will return to us when he has satisfied his wild craving for
adventure. Do you not think so?"

There was an eagerness that was almost pleading in Jim's voice. What
he so much hoped for—that no harm had befallen Joe, and that he
would return—he doubted. He needed the encouragement of his hope.

"Never," answered Nell, solemnly.

"Oh, why—why do you say that?"

"I saw him look at you—a strange, intent glance. He gazed long at
me as we separated. Oh! I can feel his eyes. No; he will never come
back."

"Nell, Nell, you do not mean he went away deliberately—because, oh!
I cannot say it."

"For no reason, except that the wilderness called him more than love
for you or—me."

"No, no," returned Jim, his face white. "You do not understand. He
really loved you—I know it. He loved me, too. Ah, how well! He has
gone because—I can't tell you."

"Oh, Jim, I hope—he loved—me," sobbed Nell, bursting into tears.
"His coldness—his neglect those—last few days—hurt me—so. If he
cared—as you say—I won't be—so—miserable."

"We are both right—you when you say he will never return, and I
when I say he loved us both," said Jim sadly, as the bitter
certainty forced itself into his mind.

As she sobbed softly, and he gazed with set, stern face into the
darkening forest, the deep, mellow notes of the church bell pealed
out. So thrilled, so startled were they by this melody wondrously
breaking the twilight stillness, that they gazed mutely at each
other. Then they remembered. It was the missionary's bell summoning
the Christian Indians to the evening service.

The, sultry, drowsy, summer days passed with no untoward event to
mar their slumbering tranquillity. Life for the newcomers to the
Village of Peace brought a content, the like of which they had never
dreamed of. Mr. Wells at once began active work among the Indians,
preaching to them through an interpreter; Nell and Kate, in hours
apart from household duties, busied themselves brightening their new
abode, and Jim entered upon the task of acquainting himself with the
modes and habits of the redmen. Truly, the young people might have
found perfect happiness in this new and novel life, if only Joe had
returned. His disappearance and subsequent absence furnished a theme
for many talks and many a quiet hour of dreamy sadness. The
fascination of his personality had been so impelling that long after
it was withdrawn a charm lingered around everything which reminded
them of him; a subtle and sweet memory, with perverse and half
bitter persistence, returned hauntingly. No trace of Joe had been
seen by any of the friendly Indian runners. He was gone into the
mazes of deep-shadowed forests, where to hunt for him would be like
striving to trail the flight of a swallow. Two of those he had left
behind always remembered him, and in their thoughts followed him in
his wanderings.

Jim settled down to his study of Indians with single-heartedness of
purpose. He spent part of every morning with the interpreters, with
whose assistance he rapidly acquired the Delaware language. He went
freely among the Indians, endeavoring to win their good-will. There
were always fifty to an hundred visiting Indians at the village;
sometimes, when the missionaries had advertised a special meeting,
there were assembled in the shady maple grove as many as five
hundred savages. Jim had, therefore, opportunities to practice his
offices of friendliness.

Fortunately for him, he at once succeeded in establishing himself in
the good graces of Glickhican, the converted Delaware chief. The
wise old Indian was of inestimable value to Jim. Early in their
acquaintance he evinced an earnest regard for the young minister,
and talked with him for hours.

From Glickhican Jim learned the real nature of the redmen. The
Indian's love of freedom and honor, his hatred of subjection and
deceit, as explained by the good old man, recalled to Jim Colonel
Zane's estimate of the savage character. Surely, as the colonel had
said, the Indians had reason for their hatred of the pioneers.
Truly, they were a blighted race.

Seldom had the rights of the redmen been thought of. The settler
pushed onward, plodding, as it were, behind his plow with a rifle.
He regarded the Indian as little better than a beast; he was easier
to kill than to tame. How little the settler knew the proud
independence, the wisdom, the stainless chastity of honor, which
belonged so truly to many Indian chiefs!

The redmen were driven like hounded deer into the untrodden wilds.
From freemen of the forests, from owners of the great boundless
plains, they passed to stern, enduring fugitives on their own lands.
Small wonder that they became cruel where once they had been gentle!
Stratagem and cunning, the night assault, the daylight ambush took
the place of their one-time open warfare. Their chivalrous courage,
that sublime inheritance from ancestors who had never known the
paleface foe, degenerated into a savage ferocity.

Interesting as was this history to Jim, he cared more for
Glickhican's rich portrayal of the redmen's domestic life, for the
beautiful poetry of his tradition and legends. He heard with delight
the exquisite fanciful Indian lore. From these romantic legends,
beautiful poems, and marvelous myths he hoped to get ideas of the
Indian's religion. Sweet and simple as childless dreams were these
quaint tales—tales of how the woodland fairies dwelt in
fern-carpeted dells; how at sunrise they came out to kiss open the
flowers; how the forest walks were spirit-haunted paths; how the
leaves whispered poetry to the winds; how the rocks harbored Indian
gods and masters who watched over their chosen ones.

Glickhican wound up his long discourses by declaring he had never
lied in the whole course of his seventy years, had never stolen,
never betrayed, never murdered, never killed, save in self-defence.
Gazing at the chief's fine features, now calm, yet showing traces of
past storms, Jim believed he spoke the truth.

When the young minister came, however, to study the hostile Indians
that flocked to the village, any conclusive delineation of
character, or any satisfactory analysis of their mental state in
regard to the paleface religion, eluded him. Their passive, silent,
sphinx-like secretiveness was baffling. Glickhican had taught him
how to propitiate the friendly braves, and with these he was
successful. Little he learned, however, from the unfriendly ones.
When making gifts to these redmen he could never be certain that his
offerings were appreciated. The jewels and gold he had brought west
with him went to the French traders, who in exchange gave him
trinkets, baubles, bracelets and weapons. Jim made hundreds of
presents. Boldly going up to befeathered and befringed chieftains,
he offered them knives, hatchets, or strings of silvery beads.
Sometimes his kindly offerings were repelled with a haughty stare;
at other times they would be accepted coldly, suspiciously, as if
the gifts brought some unknown obligation.

For a white man it was a never-to-be-forgotten experience to see
eight or ten of these grim, slowly stepping forest kings, arrayed in
all the rich splendor of their costume, stalking among the teepees
of the Village of Peace. Somehow, such a procession always made Jim
shiver. The singing, praying and preaching they heard unmoved. No
emotion was visible on their bronzed faces; nothing changed their
unalterable mien. Had they not moved, or gazed with burning eyes,
they would have been statues. When these chieftains looked at the
converted Indians, some of whom were braves of their nations, the
contempt in their glances betrayed that they now regarded these
Christian Indians as belonging to an alien race.

Among the chiefs Glickhican pointed out to Jim were Wingenund, the
Delaware; Tellane, the Half-King; Shingiss and Kotoxen—all of the
Wolf tribe of the Delawares.

Glickhican was careful to explain that the Delaware nation had been
divided into the Wolf and Turtle tribes, the former warlike people,
and the latter peaceable. Few of the Wolf tribe had gone over to the
new faith, and those who had were scorned. Wingenund, the great
power of the Delawares—indeed, the greatest of all the western
tribes—maintained a neutral attitude toward the Village of Peace.
But it was well known that his right-hand war-chiefs, Pipe and
Wishtonah, remained coldly opposed.

Jim turned all he had learned over and over in his mind, trying to
construct part of it to fit into a sermon that would be different
from any the Indians had ever heard. He did not want to preach far
over their heads. If possible, he desired to keep to their
ideals—for he deemed them more beautiful than his own—and to
conduct his teaching along the simple lines of their belief, so that
when he stimulated and developed their minds he could pass from what
they knew to the unknown Christianity of the white man.

His first address to the Indians was made one day during the
indisposition of Mr. Wells—who had been over-working himself—and
the absence of the other missionaries. He did not consider himself
at all ready for preaching, and confined his efforts to simple,
earnest talk, a recital of the thoughts he had assimilated while
living here among the Indians.

Amazement would not have described the state of his feelings when he
learned that he had made a powerful impression. The converts were
loud in his praise; the unbelievers silent and thoughtful. In spite
of himself, long before he had been prepared, he was launched on his
teaching. Every day he was called upon to speak; every day one
savage, at least, was convinced; every day the throng of interested
Indians was augmented. The elder missionaries were quite overcome
with joy; they pressed him day after day to speak, until at length
he alone preached during the afternoon service.

The news flew apace; the Village of Peace entertained more redmen
than ever before. Day by day the faith gained a stronger foothold. A
kind of religious trance affected some of the converted Indians, and
this greatly influenced the doubting ones. Many of them half
believed the Great Manitou had come.

Heckewelder, the acknowledged leader of the western Moravian
Mission, visited the village at this time, and, struck by the young
missionary's success, arranged a three days' religious festival.
Indian runners were employed to carry invitations to all the tribes.
The Wyandots in the west, the Shawnees in the south, and the
Delawares in the north were especially requested to come. No
deception was practiced to lure the distant savages to the Village
of Peace. They were asked to come, partake of the feasts, and listen
to the white man's teaching.